


Vivid

by mirqueen



Series: Spirit Effected [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Tragedy, Drama, Gen, Pre-Relationship, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-25
Updated: 2014-01-25
Packaged: 2018-01-10 01:13:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1153027
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mirqueen/pseuds/mirqueen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For every action, there is a reaction. For every cause, an effect. During the Carrows’ reign at Hogwarts, Minerva McGonagall is affected deeply, and affects more than she knows.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Vivid

Disclaimer: I do not own nor make any profit off of _Harry Potter_. It belongs to J.K. Rowling, Warner Bros. etc.

A/N: This is a little AU/OOC for Severus, I suppose. Oh, and there is some violence in this one, both real and referenced.

> ** Vivid  **

Standing once more within the gray stone edifice that was Hogwarts had brought any number of unimaginable feelings, memories, and people to Severus Snape’s mind.

The first sensation that struck him was the overwhelming sense of home. Second, though not far behind the first feeling, was the ungodly mixture of loss and guilt that attacked his spirit. It was lucky he had not seen that God-awful tower upon his entrance. The cover of his loyalties would surely have been exposed to the dark lord more easily than he would have imagined, simply by the look which that particular memory brought to his face.

Nevertheless, that had not been the case and there he had stood in the entrance hall, hesitating to take that first step towards growing into his role as the new Headmaster of Hogwarts. The former potions master had shivered at the thought of filling the enormous space that was left after… after Dumbledore was gone. But he’d buried the thought deeply into his subconscious, forcing it down with as much mental power as he could muster while still preparing himself for the imminent encounter with the black-haired witch that had been coming towards him.

The furious clicking of Minerva McGonagall’s low black heels upon the stone floors never changed; not in all of his years at the school, either while learning or teaching.

"You are late," she had snapped the words venomously with a scalding glare on her face. The woman was impudent enough to berate him immediately, but then he had expected no less from her formidable temper. Had he been as much in the dark lord’s pocket as he claimed, the witch would have faced a very unpleasant time; torture was an indiscriminant pastime for true Death Eaters wherever they could find it. Minerva’s cheek never could have passed unpunished by another in his position. Not that she cared. When a former trusted colleague who murdered her closest friend came back to oust her from her rightful position (with two Death Eater ‘professors’ in tow, to boot), he was not going to be welcomed with any sort of ease.

"I do not recall being on your time schedule," he had spat in return, contemptuous features overcoming his cold face. They had then remained locked in a mixture of internal struggling and external wits (though most certainly not the pish-posh civil duel as it had been in the past), as they would often do for months to come.

Those months passed in agonizingly slow detail for Severus. The students could rebel and he understood, even encouraged it secretly, since they were technically battling the dark lord’s control as much as they were fighting Severus himself. The staff could ignore or alter the decisions he handed down to them, whether subtly or blatantly, and he simply did not care. The Carrows were more of a problem than the rest of the staff members (who, in all honesty, had actual  _rights_  to rebellion, really). Hogwarts as a whole could entirely disintegrate with displeasure and still he did not truly care. What he cared about was the fact that every morning was wrought with the expectation of some new tremor rocking the swiftly-disappearing crumbles of foundation upon which he and Minerva stood.

Their relationship had always been a rough sea at best, uncharted and dangerous when not kept in check, but often enough they had been civil and respectful. Very few things had truly raised their hackles against each other for a number of years. Oh, Potter was always a ridiculous nuisance of a topic, he would grant that much. But during the first year of the boy’s schooling, the Head of Gryffindor quickly came to the point of rolling her eyes and facing her counterpart’s ranting about the young wizard with resignation. And nothing else had come to any vicious end since that year. Now, as Easter approached them in the current year, the entirety of their relationship could be compared to the narrowest, most unstable precipice far above a cluster of jagged rocks. The situation was troubling; he could admit that to himself. The witch thoroughly raked him over the coals as much as possible and he, in his grandiose effort to continue his charade, returned much of the same. His rejoinders to Minerva’s verbal lashings were cruel and heavy-handed, in spite of how much it pained him to tell such taunts to her already-full bank of doubts and insecurities. Yes, she was hard and fast and capable with her brusque, unfriendly demeanor, but beneath all of that had been left a tempest without guidance in the wake of Dumbledore’s sudden departure.

Of course, McGonagall was not an outright rebel in front of the Carrows or the Slytherin students. It was only with Severus on his own that she became a regular spitfire. She was using  _some_  logic, thankfully. On the face of things, it did not seem especially intelligent to speak with Severus in such a manner either, seeing as he was supposedly one of the dark lord’s closest hands. But the woman had known Severus personally for far too long not to continue her dangerous cavorting with his temper. Besides, the transfiguration professor’s restraint obviously had its limits. Without some sort of outlet, she would lose her sanity. It was highly doubtful that the dark lord would be too concerned over Minerva’s personal dislike for Severus anyway. It was just what was expected, all in all. (If she was protesting the dark lord himself, the story would be very different, but fortunately that was not the case.)

The Head of Gryffindor had become exponentially brazen and, in some peculiar way, ridiculously… well, uncouth… since his return to the school. Her attempts at rebellion and discord when with him were nothing short of scandalous in the way of diplomatic behavior, despite the no-nonsense persona that always enshrouded her.

She was, in a word,  _vivid_. Everything she did was colored and accented by her high-spirited disgust with his appointment and his deeds. Their every word bespoke flaring tempers and vicious inner thoughts and feelings, none of which had yet been fully divulged in their confrontations. Unfortunately for Severus, the ‘vicious inner thoughts’ he held were less about house differences, murder, and war loyalties than they were about the unusual feelings that coursed through him when arguing with the raven-haired Scotswoman this year.

The situation which truly and undoubtedly disturbed Severus to the absolute end of his rope was this very reaction to Minerva’s attitude.

Severus was slowly going mad with the manner of their interactions. Each confrontation led him further to a point of losing his self-control entirely. Whatever could be said of him, he knew no one had ever – not in their wildest thoughts – imagined the things that began making merry hell in his brain once he realized Minerva’s demeanor had become much more personal and violent than before. Severus had become fascinated by the strength and vitality of her dagger-studded temperament.

He was a man with singular tastes in women; one might even call his tastes masochistic, considering the challenge they presented – in following through with the relationship, anyway.

Only one other had ever caught his attention very strongly before… Lily. She had been a lovely creature, inside as well as out. The fight in her had kept him in line, while ironically still bringing out his argumentative side. Severus would never forget how he felt for her. The love he had for her certainly never faded from him completely over the years, but his feelings were clearly trying their damnedest to make another place in that tiny, cramped vessel he called a heart.

Fire had risen to new heights within Severus in the years since Lily died. His heart always sped up when the fire of any emotion was kindled. His heart now sped naturally faster than it had in his youth. But in his enduring love for Lily, the wizard felt as though he slowed his new heart rate to match the old pace. This year, that had begun to change.

Minerva utterly captivated him. He wanted her by his side, as he had never before thought he would. He wanted the vivid, fighting viper that she had been since September to stand with him as his equal (better, really). Now it was she who kept him in line while still encouraging his arguments, even if only subconsciously. As a matter of fact, she was even fierier than Lily had ever been. Perhaps that was why his heart rate did not slow anymore. It had no need to go back to the pace it had held in the past, for there was a new heart that he needed to keep up with. It was Minerva’s. And as fast as the woman’s heart seemed to pace itself, there was no need for slowing down his own to match it.

Now, shortly before the Easter holidays were to begin, he was so near the end of his limits with the fire of Minerva that he had holed himself up as much as possible in the Headmaster’s office. Luckily, in the new Headmaster’s opinion, the dark lord planned to summon the Carrows to leave very late that night for other (less savory) work outside of Hogwarts that was to last a number of days. Severus was equally disgusted and intrigued that the dark lord trusted him enough to pull the siblings out like this. The Slytherin students were hardly an adequate replacement for the two blood-crazed animals that were soon-to-be absent, so trust was the only reason there could be.

It really made no difference what the reasons or causes were at just that moment; he knew that school business would continue smoothly if Minerva had a freer reign, anyway. She was undeniably efficient and had been given dominant charge of the school for most of her career there. Dumbledore always had bigger things to do. As a portrait in the Headmaster’s office, he was still less worried about the school he had so long headed than he should have been. (In fact, he would not even appear to be awake whenever anyone else was in the room, no matter what difficulties they might be discussing with Severus.)

That particular portrait had been driving him out of his mind for days. Albus Dumbledore had a knack for knowing a person’s heart completely when they truly were in desperation over a circumstance; even when he was only ‘alive’ through paint, charms, and canvas. Each and every incident with Minerva led to a chat with Dumbledore afterwards. Albus knew somehow, despite the fact that it was never displayed, that Severus was reluctantly falling hard for the woman (in his own odd way, of course). Constant questions flooded from the wizard’s portrait after the Head of Gryffindor left the room each time. ‘Why?’ and ‘how?’ and ‘when?’ and all sorts of ridiculous things that had nothing to do with the real problem, such as how in hell he was supposed to live with it or what could he do to fix it. No good would ever come, for either Minerva or himself, if he were to enable his – as Albus had so distastefully put it – ‘romantic’ feelings for the witch.

The former headmaster was infuriatingly calm about the entire subject. Nothing seemed to faze him. No amount of cursing or threatening on Severus’ part, nor begging for advice on how to change the situation, moved Albus Dumbledore. For some ungodly reason, the old wizard did not appear to care that Severus’ heart was bending towards a new woman and not the one he had begged to be saved almost fifteen years ago.

The wizard stared out the long window across the room, into the early evening as dusk descended upon Hogwarts, wondering what on earth he was going to do about this unhappy situation.

As an obnoxious knocking sounded at his door, he turned abruptly and called out for his not-all-too-unexpected visitor to enter. Unsurprisingly, Alecto Carrow thrust her way into the office as though she owned the place. The Headmaster’s raised brow was enough to goad her into speech.

"There’s been a nasty bit of resistance from some of the brats," she fairly cackled, probably pleased that she had some misbehavior for which she might be able to punish some poor fool, "and a professor at the head of it. You better come and see for yourself."

Intrigued and worried in equal measure, Severus nodded sharply and followed the witch out of his office and through the school. His anxiety rose a notch when he realized they were not going to the defense (so-called) classroom and rose a couple more notches when they entered the great hall. Apparently, Amycus had decided that his ‘class’ was one that should be taught with a great many spectators.

A very reluctant crowd of students stood rigidly just in front of the staff table. Most were sixth and seventh years from every house, though Severus could not fathom why some would be missing if a demonstration was in order; aside from the obvious exemptions of Lovegood, Thomas, and Potter and his two devotees.

Then again, upon compiling a list of students present… Brown looking frightened and the Patil twins sharing uncomfortable glances at the former’s elbows, a badly bruised Finnigan, black-eyed Longbottom, and the youngest Weasley showing every ounce of her defiance beside the two equally defiant Creevey brothers… A wary Susan Bones in cahoots with the suspicious murmurings of Abbott, Macmillan, Finch-Fletchley, and Smith… Boot, Goldstein, and Corner, all with a few bruises each, standing behind the Patil girls.…

Almost all of the members of Potter’s illustrious student defense group were standing before him. Was it mere coincidence, despite the fact that Severus heavily disbelieved in chance? Yet where could the Carrows have gained the list of members? Umbridge had held it last, perhaps the minister; but Death Eaters?

Ah. But of course… Lucius.

If Draco’s father had  _not_  arranged for someone to filch the list from the ministry somehow during his imprisonment or after his release, then Severus would be quite shocked. Perhaps Narcissa herself had completed the small mission. Surely the elder Malfoy would have seen such a list as a foolproof way of getting to Potter through his friends. To the detriment of Lucius, he had likely been unaware of the dark lord’s plans for the boy-who-lived until rather shortly before they were implemented. Trust was no longer extended to the Malfoys; only an overindulgence on their hospitality. Really, the list of Potter’s friends was useless anyway. Most of the names on the blasted piece of parchment were watched, captured, or interrogated already, thanks to either their loyalties or their blood status. Those that were not, had gleaned enough sense to go underground long before now or were stuck in Hogwarts with three Death Eaters.

All the same, these individuals were not randomly selected and whatever may be said of Amycus, he was not unprepared to prove his point, whatever it may be. The remaining members of the current Gryffindor Quidditch team filled out the list nicely from the standpoint of the Carrows. The Headmaster had an awful gut feeling that Minerva’s house had been whispering too loudly of their – strangely formidable – resistance. Or the witch herself had mouthed off to Amycus before she could reign in her temper. The latter was undesirable at the best of times, let alone now. ‘Now’ was not the best of times by half.

Pushing away the dread clenching in his stomach as best he could, Severus forced himself to think on other things. Draco was missing early for the Easter holidays, which was much to Severus’ tastes at the present time. He did not need the superbly suspicious eye of young Mr. Malfoy to make his life difficult in such an unfortunate circumstance. Nevertheless, the eyes of a wily Zabini, keen Nott, and nosy Parkinson were surely observant enough. They, same as their fellow Slytherins, were very much in their element (to Severus’ uncommon disgust) as they policed the ill-at-ease members of the other houses.

The watching students were stationed in a row facing the floor which had been cleared of the house tables for this lesson. ‘Torture session’ was perhaps a better way of phrasing it, but the former Slytherin was far more concerned with the circumstances surrounding this phenomenon than its title. Severus again felt a great sense of unease that he could not explain, once he realized that every member of this group seemed perfectly positioned to watch whatever might take place in the middle of the floor. There was really no reason why this should so suddenly make the Headmaster uncomfortable, though. The dark arts class this year was always taught with easy viewing in mind. Still, there was a lingering feeling of sinister intention that was undeniably difficult to ignore.

One particular group of students seemed to feel at least equally as uncomfortable with the situation as he did. More than the general discomfort of facing another dark arts lesson, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and Ginny Weasley all flittered anxiously without – as he highly suspected – really understanding why. Their glares were nonetheless full of acid as they caught sight of their hated Headmaster watching calmly over the proceedings.

Crabbe and Goyle led the Slytherin ‘guards’ with polar opposite reactions, clearly enjoying their new offensive positions to the hilt. Amycus was off to the side of the assembly, Minerva McGonagall standing beside him and her uniquely exquisite face graced with a rather annoyed expression. The arm that was captured by the wizard’s large hand had a great deal to do with the last, Severus was sure.

"Overheard a plan," Alecto stated baldly, malice in her eyes, "to try and overtake you, Headmaster."

"We caught the  _professor,_ " Amycus sneered the word as though it was something nasty and shook Minerva’s arm for emphasis, then continued to state in satisfaction, "meeting in secret with some of her brats about it."

Said ‘brats’ were scowling so furiously that the headmaster imagined it to be very wise that Amycus had already looked away. While Severus was used to such righteous anger, the Carrows were not. Yet, if looks could truly kill, the Carrows would have been six feet under on their very first day at the school.

Amycus tossed Minerva’s wand carelessly to the floor, his face eager almost, causing Severus to glower inside. He highly suspected that Amycus had seen McGonagall in the corridors at some point that evening – no doubt she truly  _had_ been speaking to her students about something (not that it was likely to be something so obvious as a plan to overtake he and the Carrows) – and retracted her wand before she even knew he was within sight of her. If he’d been close enough for her to notice, Severus had no doubt that her wand would not be lying on the floor now. Even more to the point, if Minerva had realized the wizard’s presence and intention, Amycus Carrow would more than likely be a mere puddle of frog spawn and his wand tucked tightly away in the woman’s pocket (or perhaps just snapped into tiny pieces, as Severus so often wished of late). The potions master absently summoned his colleague’s wand from the floor before he spoke.

"I see," Severus injected enough coldness and suspicion to make the other man smile despicably, a smile which chilled the black-haired wizard’s blood. He knew exactly what sorts of things Amycus Carrow had done just after displaying that exact smirk. No matter how ignorant Amycus Carrow appeared to be, he was an unsavory specimen of Death Eater who had enough – for lack of a better term…  _intimate_  – knowledge of various non-magical torture methods to make Severus violently ill. And he had no wish to see it unleashed anywhere near Minerva McGonagall; the thought was primeval and disgusting.

The Gryffindors present glared ever more fiercely at Severus’ vague and icy response, almost daring him to punish them for whatever plot the Carrows had supposedly uncovered.

Minerva, for her part, raised one dark eyebrow slightly, not bothering to put in a comment yet. Her eyes did, however, glance briefly to Amycus’ hand when he tightened his already vice-like grip upon her right arm. The force being applied must have been slightly painful, but she said nothing, appearing as placid as a frozen river. A near smirk at the corner of Severus’ mouth could easily be misinterpreted as malice, but he was secretly gloating about the witch’s unimpressionable attitude. Amycus could only be seething and smarting at this subdued reaction to his normally unfailing techniques.

"Spit it out, woman," Amycus spat at Minerva suddenly when it was obvious there was no response forthcoming. He snapped her arm back sharply enough that it left all but the Slytherins to mutter angrily and Severus to wince internally. It wasn’t as though anything was broken, thank Merlin, but still… the man’s tone drew a great deal more wariness out of Severus than usual. Something was different tonight that he could not place. Of course, a number of times already that day, Minerva had made Amycus furious with her sharp tongue. More than usual, in fact. She was generally more careful than that. Unless something had truly happened – something Amycus had done the previous night while Severus was holed up in the Headmaster’s office. Something that Minerva could never let pass… There were several options that Severus could imagine, but he hoped to whatever forces existed that none had occurred.

But “I haven’t got all night to wait!” passed Amycus’ lips and Lavender Brown’s face blanched in his peripheral vision, then an abnormally terrified expression covered her face that automatically made Severus’ hope drop. Amycus had done something to the girl that had nothing to do with the dark arts class, it was plain. Minerva must have found out, intervened, or at least suspected. Whatever the case, this did not bode well. Whatever might happen just now, the former Head of Slytherin was glad to be rid of the man for a time.

"I doubt conversation with the students is against regulations, Headmaster?" Minerva at last spoke coldly to Severus alone, snapping her arm from the other man’s grip. Evil though she saw him as being, Severus was at least deemed ‘conversation-worthy,’ no matter how stinging the talks he received. In some strange way, that comforted him. "Unless your newest staff members haven’t the inclination to further their intelligence by reading those regulations?"

"I’ve had enough of your tongue today!" Amycus nearly roared at her, causing a look of disgust to cross her features when spittle landed on the front of her nearly-black robes. Her Gryffindors were obviously seething, no matter how inadvertent the gesture may have been. Had it been done to a fellow student, they would already have shouted their indignant defenses, but one very important difference between now and most other times was the object of Amycus’ threats. Severus had to admire, however grudgingly, their willingness to tamp down the typical Gryffindor tendency toward reckless chivalry. Defending Minerva at that moment could have been disastrous to her health. Common sense was not lost on Gryffindors after all, it seemed.

"How does this relate to the current assemblage of students?" Severus queried of Amycus with supposed disinterest.

"The professor here," Alecto spoke up with undisguised glee in her voice, "doesn’t seem to know the rules as well as we do. We wanted to help her understand ‘em."

"And her students could help her understand even better," suggested Amycus with a nasty grin.

Severus was not pleased by this, no, not at all. If Minerva was tortured by some of her own students, it would have a dark effect on Hogwarts. Of this he had no doubt. The reaction to this statement (from Longbottom and Weasley, particularly) was proof enough of that. She was seen as a pillar by the youth in the castle, even by some of the very young Slytherins who were not as certain of their futures with the dark lord. Most present would not be able to perform a satisfactory cruciatus curse, let alone on their respected professor, but none would fail to at least raise their wand and say the word. They would succeed in that, at least, because Minerva would never want them tortured in her stead. But even a competely unsuccessful attempt would degenerate the whole institution. What would happen if the natural balance between mentor and student were compromised in this way?

"You felt it necessary for these students," said Severus doubtfully, "to take part in what they already learn in your class, Amycus?"

"Maybe her own house would be best," Alecto added maliciously.

"Professor McGonagall has always believed that ‘teaching by example’ is the best way to instill knowledge," came Theodore Nott’s strangely oily tone, "but maybe it would better for  _interhouse unity_  if all the houses were able to help?”

This mocking reply grated on many an ear, but for Severus it caused extreme alarm. On one hand, it was disturbing how quickly Nott had tried to become as loyal to the dark lord as his father throughout the past few months. But more disturbing was the essence of what the seventh-year had said, none of which seemed to fully penetrate the other students’ minds.

Now, at last, Severus understood. The Slytherins were not there to police the others, as he had previously thought. They, fully capable of casting that dreaded curse upon anyone up to and including their own mothers, would have no trouble torturing Minerva. Indeed, the fools would relish the chance to lord themselves over the powerful Head of Gryffindor as she writhed in pain on the floor. This he would have to circumvent at all costs, testament to his theory of the balance between teacher and student. The Carrows could torture Minerva in front of every student there and yet still the spirit of the anti-Voldemort movement would stand firm.

"And you, Nott…" the Headmaster drawled languidly, cocking an eyebrow in condescension. "I assume you feel that _you_  are the most worthy to teach this valuable lesson?”

No one except Minerva could have ever noticed the bitter sarcasm that fairly oozed off of the word ‘valuable,’ but said witch was definitely not interested in the nuances of her colleague as she had been before his supposed betrayal. As he had expected, Nott looked faintly ruffled by this dressing-down, and thankfully said no more as he wilted back into the line of wand-wielding Slytherins. Amycus looked less than pleased that someone was rocking the boat.

"Who, but for myself," Severus went on in a voice of deadly quiet, "has the… ah… privilege of teaching the rebellious Professor McGonagall her lesson?"

The slight leer in his words left no one in doubt of his presumed intentions. Minerva’s eyes narrowed to slits of venomous gray and her students’ near-silent fury on her behalf was admittedly just as great. Amycus was less satisfied than that, if it was possible; no doubt he wanted more of a personal hand in Minerva’s punishment. Severus ruthlessly suppressed a shudder at the very idea.

"Two teachers are better than one," Amycus’ sneering innuendo gave the Headmaster a most sickening urge to gag on his own breath. Every single student who was not from Slytherin gasped and cried out their shock at the blatant remark. Miss Brown’s face paled to near-translucence and the Patils gathered closer to her in reassurance. A muscle jumped violently in Minerva’s jaw. Regardless of what façade she played for the people around her, that little movement indicated her growing fear to Severus.

"You are  _disgusting_!” Minerva spat with fire in spite of her fright, voice filled with all the revulsion she could muster.

Within a moment, several things happened in rapid succession, none of which Severus could have predicted accurately. Amycus made a harsh sort of motion with his empty hands that alerted Minerva’s sharp eyes to impending danger. Almost as quickly, Minerva attempted to back away from the man in a swift and nimble rush of her feet. Amycus was already lumbering towards her, stretching his long arms forward without even reaching for his own wand, and to Minerva’s great misfortune the wizard’s arms had a farther reach than her legs had carried her from him. Every Gryffindor roared their protest, attempting to aide their protector. The many Slytherin wands pointed at them halted any progress they might have made more than adequately. Severus was horribly blindsided by the abrupt chain of events. Even if he  _had_  imagined some sort of fool-proof plan to help his colleague without exposing his allegiances to everyone, it was impossible to implement it. He was furiously sick with himself for being so utterly useless. Alecto, contrarily to all, stood beside the Headmaster cackling her sick enjoyment of the scene.

With no hesitation, Amycus abruptly used both of his large hands to grab Minerva’s waist in a vice-like grip and slam her thin, half-wasted body beneath him in the middle of the floor. True to her character the professor did not cry out, even as her head hit the floor hard and the much heavier body of her attacker landed atop her. Quite unlike her enraged Gryffindors, who were being thrown back with curses and hexes as they made their best effort to rush forward.

"NO!"

"Leave her alone!"

"Get AWAY from her!"

The voices of the students were indiscriminant as they all yelled for dominance above the horror of their situation. It was perfectly impossible to tell which student said what. Only the words themselves penetrated Severus’ mind, as they echoed his own mental barrage with precise consistency. Yet he could do nothing. Nothing at all or else risk destroying his precarious position with the dark lord. Too much was at stake to throw it all away on even this horrid scene.

In another gruesome turn of events, Amycus ripped out his wand and jabbed it towards Minerva’s pooled skirt. Severus worried feverishly what horror was to be expected by this gesture, but realized immediately after, with a churning stomach, that he needn’t have thought much farther than generic torture.

The definitive cracking sound was nothing compared to the raw, unexpected scream that erupted from Minerva’s throat and silenced her would-be defenders with shock. The twist of Minerva’s countenance was almost gruesome as she fell back awkwardly in her agony, left leg obviously broken beneath her robes and tears streaming from her tightly closed eyes.

Amycus’ features were positively gleeful; he enjoyed causing pain as much as Bellatrix. As if to confirm this incomprehensible description, he continued his retribution by tearing Minerva’s wand arm in a horrifyingly awkward direction. Another scream rent the air, only to abruptly cut off as Amycus added insult to injury by slapping Minerva’s face with all of his might. The corresponding smack of her face to hard stone echoed in horrifying detail up to the rafters and blood flooded the witch’s lips, sickeningly stark against her pale skin and the light stone of the floor. Severus was certain that some of her teeth were at least cracked from the force of it, if not entirely broken.

The potions master forced himself with every fiber of his being not to react rashly and thereby expose himself, but he  _so_  wished to curse the beast and his sister; Severus’ instincts were begging him to do so, if for no other reason than a tribute to Minerva’s fair treatment of him in school and on staff. As it was, his hands shook violently in response. Minerva was unable to restrain more tears and heaving breaths, her wand arm lying uselessly distorted off to the side and her raven hair pooled about her head after having been so violently forced from it constraints. Brown and the Patils were crying unrestrainedly, clutching each other in terror. Longbottom, Finnigan, and Ginny Weasley were beside themselves, cursing and fighting tooth and nail to get past Crabbe, Goyle, and Bulstrode, all of whom held their wands with disturbing steadiness. They did not look the least bit disturbed, for they had been well-trained by their mindless fathers.

"Thought you liked a bit of sharpness?" Amycus taunted jeeringly, landing two hard blows to his captive’s chest. As Minerva choked on her pride and her tears, Finnigan cussed darkly in his fury, Ginny Weasley finally allowed tears to fall unchecked, and Longbottom looked as ready to spit flames as any Hungarian Horntail. Nott didn’t look nearly as keen as he had before, in fact he looked vaguely ill. Davis, Zabini, Greengrass… they all appeared disgusted; Parkinson looked mildly uncomfortable herself.

Even from where he watched, Severus recognized the trembling that he had seen a decidedly rare number of times before in his colleague, whenever she was desperately terrified and vulnerable. The very idea that this vivid witch, so full of courage and strength, was exposing her weakness for all to see, simply killed him. And still he could do nothing.

Severus had been building a full repertoire of sick, twisted things that Hogwarts never should have been and never should have played host to, all of which had occurred this very year under his twisted leadership. This – breaking down the strongest protector that Hogwarts had – was one of them. It was supposed to be important to him. It was supposed to be what he wanted.

Severus Snape had rarely wanted anything so _little_  in his entire life.

* * *

 


End file.
